Monday, June 25, 2001
But you've got no destination
You're in the mud
In the maze of her imagination
You love this town
Even if that doesn't ring true
You've been all over
And it's been all over you
It was indeed a beautiful day, although I was only really able to enjoy the latter part of it, commonly known as "evening" as I have (of course) a job now.
After a dinner with a friend, I started to head home, but it was too early for the sun to have set and too late for me to bother calling work to see if maybe they needed me to come in afterall. There are those times like that, and when there's half a tank of gas in your car, I guess that seems like a good enough excuse to not head home quite yet.
There's this road, off of my road—past the barn where my sister used to ride and started to teach me until allergies (or fear) got the better of me—it's all bumpy and windy and in the middle of a large tract of land that Digital once owned but never developed. And there are lots of large, shady trees and very few people and no pavement after a point. I learned to drive on this road—or at least, the first few times I drove, this is where my parents took me. I'm not sure how much experience you really learn driving on an empty road. Some, I suppose.
I drove past my house and continued on, turned off onto the long and windy road—windows down, music off, hand out the window to catch a breeze. The speed limit says 30, but I probably did 15 much of the way. It seemed disrespectful to kick up too much dust in such a quiet place.
I had a long, bad weekend that really didn't feel much like a weekend at all. I wanted something peaceful.
I guess if you drive so slowly, young deer don't notice you until you're right up by them. And they'll pause for a moment, before turning and darting off in that bouncing sort of way they have. And that's worth a smile, even if that more cynnical side is muttering about development of land and displaced wildlife running in dangerous places.
The birds sang and for a few minutes, I actually felt calm and ok with things, not even in denial about things, or angry, just ok, and that was a very nice place to be.
And then, like that needle running off the record, a golf cart darted on and off the road—reminding me that oh yes, thinly veiled behind the trees there is grass cut unnaturally short and middle aged men who paid more than I'll make in a day to tap a ball into a hole. Development, I mutter, like I have always been some sort of tree-hugging hippie when I know I crave asphalt, cement and high rise buildings and sidewalks with cracks in them to measure your pace.
I felt sort of robbed of my moment, but the road was coming out on the other side. Still, I thought maybe I could reclaim it, get back to that place, if I just turned around and drove the other way on the road (which is towards home anyhow). Except in the moments before I was able to pull out and U-turn back, a giant black, disgusting SUV came along down the road, nearly driving into me in the process. And immediately after I managed the turn a white pickup came along. I was forced to drive like a normal person, near the speed limit and without stopping for deer or other wildlife. (Not that deer or other wildlife are present when a thundering soccer mom in her gas guzzling (yet fashionable) alternative to a minivan comes along.)
But I suppose I should've known better than to try and recreate a moment anyhow.
On the ride back, I could see over to the side with the golf course more clearly, and it was harder to ignore. There are several golf courses being built or just built nearby here just now and though I suppose it's not the worst use of land (it is green and all, right?) I just can't help but think it seems a silly thing when you can't build woods again. Not like they were, anyway. (But then again, I do not play golf. I tried to watch The Legend of Bagger Vance on video, but I really just didn't feel it. I have no patience for sports (games?) that seem tedious, or really most sports at all. Perhaps I ought to not whine so much.)
But anyway. It was beautiful out there—for a moment.
[09:05 PM EST] [5]
Thursday, June 21, 2001
[Editor's note: my comment system seems to be acting a bit weird lately, but be careful not to click 'post' too many times because it's been making duplicate posts every time you do.
Also, since this is apparently my most controversial entry, I'd just like to make a few notes, namely: I wrote this in the summer of 2001, while I was temping doing data-entry for Partylite; I only worked there three weeks; I've never sold candles and this is a personal website, unaffiliated with Partylite, so don't try, like, entering your order in my search field or something brilliant like that.]
And so, I have gotten myself a job. An eight-hour-a-day job that involves a cubicle and one of those swirly, rolly chairs.
I really, really, really hate this job.
I mean, I'm not going to get all worried about it, since technically, I am just a temp and I am only obligated (and I use the term "obligation" here quite losely—I really feel no obligation to these people. Whatsoever.) to work for like two and a half weeks. So in another week and a half, I get "laid off" and then normally, I would be rehired, probably doing the same thing, but oh. I think TCBY is looking mighty nice right about now.
From eight o'clock in the morning until four-thirty in the afternoon, I sit at my cubicle and enter orders into the computer. Orders for candles.
You know how people have Tupperware parties? And then, if they get really sucked into the Tupperware world, they try and get their friends to have Tupperware parties? Or Mary Kay?Amway? Or any of those things? Right. I work for one of those types of companies. Except instead of selling useful products to keep your food fresh or makeup supplies, or whatever, I work for PartyLite. They sell candles.
Actually, it's "Candles and Candle Accessories" which, really, people, if your accessory requires accessories, maybe this is a sign you don't need it in the first place.
Actually, nobody really needs any candles, given that this is the 21st century and there are electric lights and all—and anyway, if you spend $30 on a candle, you don't really want to burn it. You just want to look at it, I guess. And make your neighbor buy one too.
So every day, I spend several hours typing in orders from these candle parties (or "shows"), and I'm not exactly clear what goes on at these "shows" but whatever it is, I am thinking there might be chemcial substances involved, or something—whatever it is, something inspires these of women to spend thousands of dollars on candles.
I have visions of bored and lonely housewives (a disproportionate number of whom seem to be named "Tammy" and "Tina") gathered around in someone's freshly-cleaned living room with a floral print couch in Kenosha, Wisconson. One of them holds up a purple stick of wax and announcing "Now here we have a 'Rasberry Rapture' votive—lovely isn't it? That's a special for the summer..." A chorus of ooh's and ahh's and there's frantic scribbling of numbers and letters and codes—some of which will invariably written wrong.
And that, of course, is always great fun for me, as I attempt to make sense of scrawling numbers and what would appear to be very, very poor mathmatical abilities. And for some reason, nobody ever seems to understand that the aforementioned votive candles (what in the hell does "votive" mean anyway? For some reason, I think "devotional", like those candles in church, but I don't think that's what they mean here) are sold in boxes of six. Not by the dozen. So women get all confused about how many they want to buy and put down "1" or "2" for quanitity, sometimes "6" and sometimes "12" or "1/2" and it's all just quite confusing and as the day goes on, very, very, very irritating. I have visions of hunting down all those Tammy's and Tina's and all the rest and screaming at them. Not just for screwing up their damn orders, but for being so damn stupid as to buy hundreds of freaking candles.
I think about these things far, far too much, I realize. But I can't help but wondering about these people, these strange, weird people who buy far, far too many candles than any normal human being ought to ever possess within their lifetime. I mean, some of these women have spent over $300 in a single evening on wax. That they won't even burn. That will never provide any functional purpose. That aren't even a really great deal.
Apparently, PartyLite (and the name—it's like a really bad pun, or something. When I first heard of the company, I imagined they made something like party supplies. You know, those paper plates and tablecloths and stuff. Even that would be more useful, I think) has offices in several different countries in the world. I find this hard to imagine. I can't quite see Swiss women sitting around and excitedly debating (in French, Italian and German) whether to buy the Lemongrass Pillar or the Enchantment Duo. But perhaps there are.
It's a sad job. We spend all of our breaks whining and complaining about how much it sucks, and though I have had sucky jobs in the past, I have never felt so compelled to spend all my break time discussing how much I hate a job. It's just never come to that.
But alas. I needed money. I still do, but I think my sanity is worth a little more than $8.50 an hour. I hope so, anyway.
[05:54 PM EST] [91]
Saturday, June 16, 2001
I know before I look at the calendar that today is it. It's been a year — an entire 365 freaking days since I sat down at my computer at the very same place and had a very enlightening conversation which was followed by several other enlightening conversations and revelations.
And the fact that it's been a year since the breakup kinda depresses me for a host of reasons. The post-breakup state has now been twice as long (almost) as the relationship. And I'm still not over it. Not really, anyway. Not like I believe normal, well-balanced, sane people ought to be.
I realize this is partly because I seem to suffer from a form of schizophrenia. No plan seems to be my plan for very long. I will never speak to him again (for two weeks). I will forgive him for the purpose of letting myself let go of things, but not really invest anything else in this messed up fiasco (for two weeks). I will never talk to him again (another short-lived two weeks). We will be friends, maybe. I will never talk to him again. Repeat cycle, ad infinitum.
I've used my relationship is like a drug addiction analogy more than once — even before the breakup. It's like you rationally know it's not a good thing for you in the long run, and it leaves you feeling bad and upset, but you can't get away from it, because in the moment, it feels good. And you know the longer you stick with it, the harder it will be to break away, and you try and quit, but you just need something.
In a lot of ways, I think I've taken only the wrong lessons away from all of this.
I mistrust the wrong people, and I'm bitter and cynnical towards the unknown, and I don't want to be that way, but it's hard to keep the generalizations from creeping up and the doubt from seeping in. Yet simultaneously, I still put myself in the same position I did before.
I feel like this picture my high school art teacher had up on the wall of a doormat with a sign on it saying "Hi, I'm Mat". Go ahead, walk all over me, I wouldn't have put myself here if I didn't have some sick issues with standing up for myself.
I know both of these are exaggerations. I don't hate everyone I don't know and I don't always let myself be walked on. But I do do it, to an extent, and I know I shouldn't, and I do it anyway. And I try to let go of things, but they still bother me. A lot.
Because I was in a particularly self-hating mode last night or something, I dug out the saved conversation from a year ago. And even though I have read it enough times to know exactly how it goes, it still kills me. The way it starts off kind of normal and I can remember how I felt right then — too tired of things to care anymore that I probably shouldn't be talking to his ex-girlfriend, yet still partly determined to make things work. And then the way it keeps going and how it probably wasn't for almost an hour that I got to the part that still makes me freeze.
And I know how the story goes. And I know I've been through all this on here before (or maybe not, but some things, I don't really want to explain) and how I had to call her, 'cause I still really couldn't believe it, and how I went on a bizarre, half-crazed IM'ing spree of every screen name he'd ever mentioned to me, trying to piece together things and how I probably seemed a little insane, but I didn't really care. All I could think was that half the reason things ever got like this was because I had been so damn afraid to ask questions and say things and do things impulsively. And I swore I wouldn't be stupid and afraid like that again.
And maybe, I'm slightly bolder about things, but not really, I don't think. I am just more likely to assume the worst and either be willing to accept (read: pretend it doesn't exist) or to chase it out of my life because God knows we don't need any more of that crap around here, and chances are it very well could've been bad. Maybe, anyway. Maybe the devil you know is better than the one you don't.
Anyway, there is no real resolution to all this to add here and now, and I know I've been quiet lately because I don't have much else to say, and I'm not exactly sure how I feel about what I've said just now. I don't know what I think about things, but in that light, and in celebration of other, somewhat happier anniversairies-of-sorts, I think starting next week and for the next three weeks or so, I'm going to turn this page into a personal project-type thing (complete with semi-daily updates!). And I say this mostly because if I promise something aloud, the chances of my actually following through are slightly higher than they are if I keep them to myself (which hovers somewhere around "not very likely").
So anyway. That's that story, for now.
[12:04 PM EST] [9]
Friday, June 8, 2001
I've been having strange dreams lately.
Last night, I dreamt I was in some bizarre maze world that was part obstacle course, part a test of British History knowledge. As I squeezed in and out of small spaces and ducked under flying objects, random historical figures and dates came back to haunt me. And the strangest part was, the dream seemed so familiar. I was remembering bits and peices of how the maze thing went, like I'd done it before. Maybe I was just remembering another dream.
The night before, I dreamt I found out too far into the semester that I was enrolled in an ice-skating course. Except it was actually a drama course — like a play on ice. And it was too late in the semester to drop out. And I didn't know my lines or how to skate. I remember there was singing (also can't sing) and dancing (same) and swimming (?!?) in the ice skating rink. And a swing-set that flipped over.
(This is not the first dream about finding out too late I'm enrolled in a class — I've had a couple of them. In one, I realized at the end of the semester I had been skipping my Comm. class all along to take a gym class I wasn't actually signed up for. I tried running across campus to try and make it to the final, but couldn't make it because in my dreams, gravity is never there the way it should be when I need to run. I fly like an astronaut on the moon, except I can never spring from one point to the next quite fast enough. I usually wake up frustrated.)
So I have been getting REM sleep (albeit disturbing REM sleep), just not enough, apparently. Because I am dead tired, and not in the greatest mood.
I know it's my fault. I know I stay up too late, even when I know better, even when I know that the people are coming bright and early to fix the roof. I was woken up three hours after I fell asleep to the sound of loud banging and stomping on the roof (which, because of the way my house is set up, means roof-fixer people standing so as to be able to look into the string of non-blinded and non-curtained windows in my room). Same as the day before.
And I'm in a pissy mood because I don't get enough sleep and I suspect everyone else is out having more fun than me. Probably because they are.
I need to save up money because I don't know how I'm going to get by next year, or next summer for that matter, but it seems as though the job situation is going to work itself out. Well, sort of. Mind-numbing and a complete lack of utilization of my oh-so-brilliant talents (hah) but it's money and right now, I don't have much of that, so this sounds like a good thing.
My summer is now entering this state of tedium — I can see now, pretty clearly, how it's going to go. The patterns have already been arranged and, even if it's not a good idea, I don't fight these patterns very much so they take over my life quite easily. Work days, spend evenings renting videos and the occassional dinner out or trip to Boston. Foil plans, work weekend nights. Stay up too late. Wake up tired. Whine (whine, whine). Repeat cycle for another two and a half months (just two and a half!)
I'll shut up about this soon, I promise. I just have little else to say — but that too is my fault, I know.
[12:23 PM EST] [4]
Saturday, June 2, 2001
In the past few days or so I have come to a few important conclusions that I think, if I stuck to, would make my life a much, much better life than it is.
1. There are no jobs. I have tried temp agencies, filling out applications, spent way too much time driving around. I still have nothing more than TCBY — though hopefully this will change. Although not much for the better. While all my friends from school have fun jobs that either pay well or are related to their major (or both) I have neither. I blame this area for starters, although I have a feeling I will graduate in three years and be very unemployable.
2. I can NOT come back next year. Home, I mean. There is absolutely no good reason to come back to Massachusetts as far as I can see. I'll miss my friends, but then again, I don't really see them now anyway, so I'm sure we'll get by. Next year at this time, I will be living in a big city, without my parents, with an amazing internship and having lots of fun. Or at least, I hope so. Or I'll just run away to Europe and stay there until school starts and then, yay, stay there.
3. I really should have backed up more of my computer. That way, when it decided it would hate me and refuse to open up anything (it claims to have found "new hardware" and is searching for something to install it with when, aggrivatingly enough, there is absoutely nothing new on that computer) I wouldn't be an entire year's worth of papers, phone numbers, email addresses, bookmarks and about 650 mp3's gone away. Forever.
4. Customer support is manned by complete idiots. Or at least Tim at HP on the notepads is an idiot, because after a half hour on hold and 45 minutes on the phone, he had basically no real understanding of a) what my problem was or b) how to fix it. And oh yeah, it was long distance.
5. When you really need hours badly, don't take off work. Especially not to see someone who cancelled last minute on you the time before. Especially not to see someone who you don't seem to be capable of actually having a normal conversation with. Especially not when you had to fight hard to get that shift in the first place. Especially not when someone is going to cancel on you because you don't want to sleep over.
And on yeah:
6. If nobody takes the tv remote, the house would be a lot more peaceful. Or if my dad would take some valium. But you know how that goes.
[03:52 PM EST] [10]